Pas de deux
by bibliophile tropicale
Summary: A continuation of Trials & Tribulation. More characters, more mystery, more drama and more delightful memories of Perry and Della in two dynamic chapters.
1. Chapter 1

All the usual disclaimers apply. A special thanks to my beta who likes to remain exotic and mysterious for her extra eyes and words of encouragement.

"**Pas de deux"**

_**pas de deux, a dance for two performers.**_

**A continuation of Trials & Tribulations**

**-Chapter 1**

_Thursday_

Gloria Steiner, listening to the young clerks' discussion in the background, stopped filing, leaned against the cabinet and felt a sense of déjà vu. Just a few hours earlier she and Nelsa Keetan, Senior Clerk Administrator in charge of managing and distributing the division's caseloads, had been enjoying lunch at their favorite eatery, a little mom and pop establishment. What the restaurant lacked in ambiance it more than compensated with good service and delicious food. Settling in their cozy private booth far from public scrutiny they were free to vent, let their hair down and share each other's company.

Nelsa Keetan continually griped and groaned about her ex-husband, Bernie. and even though the couple had been divorced for fifteen years and lived their separate lives, the combative duo managed each year to put aside their differences long enough to plan some global adventure together. And each time Nelsa would nod and pretend to listen to the never ending saga of Nelsa and Bernie.

Déjà vu, she thought today at lunch as Nelsa described the annual trip she and Bernie were taking to Costa Rica. Ever the dutiful friend, Gloria nodded, pretended to listen and thought of her own pathetic love life.

When they weren't discussing Bernie, their noontime escapes would shift and jump over a wide range of topics, always mindful to leave the courthouse business behind. But many months earlier the temptation to discuss the forbidden had been too much to resist.

_Nelsa leaned back in the booth, flipped her short blonde hair behind her ears and cast her piercing blue eyes at her friend. Stifling a wicked chuckle, she scrutinized her friend over a cup of apricot chai tea; a tea she swore increased her libido. _

"_So what's he like?" Nelsa asked._

"_Who?"_

"_You know…." Nelsa encouraged, leaning across the table._

_Gloria's eyes narrowed, knowing all too well the 'who'. _

_Rolling her eyes with exasperation, Nelsa pleaded, "Come on, Gloria, you know-him!"_

_Stringing her friend along, letting the seconds pass, building the drama to maximum intensity, she eventually answered, "You mean the 'new' justice?"_

"_Yes, dammit! Good lord, Gloria, who else would I be talking about!" _

_An easy, sly smile tugged at the corner of the secretary's lips at her friend's mounting frustration. _

"'_Your' new justice for heaven's sake!" Nelsa repeated in an irritated tone and again waited for what seemed a century._

"_We're adjusting," Gloria finally answered._

"_Adjusting!" the clerk exclaimed, taken by surprise. "That's all you can say-'we're adjusting'. If the new justice were someone like Curtis Sheridan or Anderson Powell, they're competent and nice gentlemen, well, I could understand your nonchalance, but we're talking about 'the' Perry Mason here."_

"_Yes, so…"_

"_Yes, so….." Nelsa mimicked, turning on a smile, she continued. "Remember how the papers played up Mason's high profile and colorful career. I believe the papers described his legerdemain in the courtroom as 'legendary'." Rolling her eyes as though visualizing information from newspaper text, she continued. "Mason's fast paced detective work kept L.A. finest constantly on their toes. And oh, yes, when District Attorney Hamilton Burger and Perry Mason faced off in the courtroom, the stakes, the drama and the legal fireworks were guaranteed to be at their highest." Nelsa paused, eyed her friend carefully. _

_The secretary sat passively, arms folded, listening to her friend's colorful description, watching the elegant hand gestures and thought of the new justice. She recalled the first day she and Perry Mason were formally introduced. Immediately, they both began to study and 'size up' the other._

_It didn't take long for Gloria to 'size up' the lawyer. She found Mason to be a man of action, who was used to thinking on his feet and working on the run. In his new role as justice, Mason reminded her of a caged tiger with anxious eyes and a restless nature. Each time she walked into his chambers, his expressive eyes would look to her with hope-a hope that she would deliver some novel case to stimulate his curiosity. Delivering only the routine, she could sense his disappointment and restlessness as he resumed his judicial duties._

_Unfortunately the atmosphere of the court was methodical and steady with occasional moments of high drama when a highly publicized case reached their division. She wondered, why a man like Mason would choose to be on the court? Like any legal cowboy, she picked Mason as a lawyer who would die with his boots on-certainly not one who would spend hours reading briefs and writing opinions. Of course everyone has their reasons, she mused. Eyes narrowing, she knew all too well that some reasons were not always the obvious ones._

_Leaning back against the cushions, Nelsa shook her head. "I can't believe all you can say is 'so'." Releasing a gentle sigh, Nelsa decided to sweeten the deal. "And that's not all."_

_Gloria's face remained expressionless while gently stroking the ceramic handle of her peach oolong tea._

"_Mason had a secretary."_

"_Nelsa, that's hardly earthshattering news," Gloria finally spoke._

_The clerk leaned forward, cupped her hands around her libido in a cup and continued to share. "Mason's secretary was a twenty-four/seven."_

_Gloria's eyebrow twitched slightly to an arch. Nelsa grinned, seeing she had penetrated the cool veneer of her friend's inscrutable manner._

_The clerk continued. "Let's just say she was his secretary at work….and at play."_

_Nelsa paused, enjoying the buildup to her story, watching, waiting for Gloria to contribute some juicy information. When she found her friend idly toying with her cup, she continued._

"_During Mason's confirmation they ran an old newspaper photo from back in the day. The photo was taken of Mason and his secretary in the hallway as they prepared to enter the courtroom. They were looking at each other and it wasn't one of those 'did you remember to bring this or that' look." Leaning back and delivering a wicked grin, Nelsa toyed. "Gloria, this was one of those 'a picture is worth a thousand words looks'." To Nelsa's dismay the secretary remained unfazed, but the clerk remained persistent. "From what I understand the L.A. tabloids were constantly on Mason's trail, trying to gather little tidbits about his personal life. Every now and then they'd stumble across the lawyer and his secretary dining and dancing after hours-and of course, all while working on a case."_

"_Interesting," Gloria replied, eyes narrowing in thought._

"_I'll say. I heard back in the day one gossip columnist even had them in Las Vegas getting married of all things. Of course, it was just gossip. Turns out they were just following a lead in one of Mason's headline cases, but it certainly was the talk of the tabloids for a while."_

"_I bet it was," the secretary replied again._

"_Well, I'm sure you'll have an interesting time as Mason's 'new' secretary," Nelsa said pointedly, raising her eyebrows. "Who knows, maybe your love life will improve after all-maybe a little dining and dancing will be in order."_

_The secretary slowly shook her head at her friend's vivid imagination. "Honestly, Nelsa, you've been watching way too many soaps. Your imagination is running wild." _

_Pointing her finger at the clerk's tea, Gloria added, "Maybe it's the apricot chai, you know, the libido in a cup talking." _

_Nelsa delivered a throaty laugh and settled back in her seat. _

_Gloria sighed, "After all these years you should know me by now. I can't help it; I'm a nurturer, Nelsa. I can't help but take them under my wing-new clerks-new justices."_

_Nelsa delivered a sigh of resignation. "Yeah, I know you; you're a nurturer and one tough cookie to crack."_

_With that comment, both women softly laughed. _

_Yes, lunch was certainly a case of déjà vu._ Turning, Gloria watched the two young women at their work table. _Yeah, I'm a nurturer._ Amy Hart, Justice Caldwell's clerk, had delivered the research she had gathered in the form of several leather bound books, the _California Appellate Reports_, their pages book marked with colored paper. The clerk's topic of discussion-the new forms and format for writs and briefs. She caught their furtive looks in her direction, the two hesitating whether to interrupt her filing to ask their question. Gloria sensed their need for help and began to offer assistance when a knock sounded at the door. Andy, the custodian on their floor, peeked around the edge of the door and was motioned in by the secretary. Instantly the room became silent as the large flat cardboard box was wheeled in.

"Ms. Steiner, I'd appreciate a quick inspection of this parcel for any damage and then your signature on this form for the guy downstairs." With that request out of the way, the custodian tucked the delivery form away, and began to loosen the large staples on the edge of the box.

Casually Gloria walked over to the table to take charge. The mysterious package, half the size of their conference table, had seized their attention and all three women stood with their hands on their hips while Andy took his time, relishing his brief moment of high drama in an otherwise routine day at the courthouse. Peeling back the cardboard, he theatrically unveiled the contents inch by inch until the full length of the picture frame was revealed. All stood speechless until Leslie Marks broke the silence.

"Wow!" she exclaimed.

"Yeah, wow!" Amy Hart, Justice Caldwell's clerk agreed.

"Man, that's really good," the custodian chimed in

Gloria stood silent, dark eyes critically inspecting every detail of the large painting while those around her freely shared their opinions. Noting the older woman's silence they slowly lifted their eyes to the secretary and noticed her misty eyes.

The large canvas was full of lush colors, stylish architecture and throngs of humanity flowing along a busy Parisian street lined with outdoor cafes. Amidst the lively social scene, one café in particular stood out, Café Lacombe. At the café a woman sat alone at a corner table, elegantly attired, face hidden by the black netting of a hat while the tables around her were filled with patrons.

Gloria's eyes couldn't leave the lone figure and felt drawn to the fashionable woman. She remembered the sound of his voice. '_My darling,' he whispered. 'Meet me at Lacombe.' _ She had waited and waited- the promise of a rendezvous-broken. The attention and voices of those around her seemed miles away. In silence she extended her hand in the custodian's direction and beckoned for the form. He wordlessly pulled out the paper and pen for her signature.

Nodding toward the form, Andy added. "There's an invoice in there for Judge Mason."

"Thank you, Andy," Gloria stated coolly, signed the delivery form and returned it to him.

"I'll be glad to come back when his Honor decides where he wants to hang his painting. You tell him it won't be any problem at all," he cheerfully volunteered as he slipped the cart from the painting and headed for the door.

Gloria nodded and was thankful. The vibrant colors and images of the painting had provided a welcome distraction for her companions. The two clerks examined the painting pointing out minute details in the artwork. The older woman was thankful for the reprieve their distraction allowed. Turning, she discreetly wiped the tears that clung to her lashes.

**~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~**

The Fairness and Expediency Committee meeting was drawing to a close. Agendas, case load spread sheets and other related data were still spread across the large conference table. Perry Mason's leather binder lay open, his fingers gracefully guiding his pen across the paper, his mind easily falling back into his courtroom mode of multi-tasking.

Mason understood the need for the committee but found its process exceedingly mundane, on par with answering mail, a task for which Della Street had proven to be a relentless taskmaster. How he yearned for the challenges of a mystery, a puzzle-a game of cat and mouse-an adventure of life and death proportions. He wanted to be on the move outside the office, matching wits with an able adversary, or feeling the adrenaline of the courtroom.

To his disappointment, C. C. Caldwell was not on the committee or he would have gladly flashed her, his 'just kill me look' and with that thought he released a faint smile.

The discussion continued while he listened and focused on the notes his pen created. He had honed the multi-tasking ability to a fine art, the art of listening to courtroom testimony while jotting down notes for Paul and Della. Paul and Della...each day they were in his thoughts - a constant reminder of his 'other' life. The presentations were completed and Mason joined the other five justices in the final decision, the vote was unanimous; the new case assignment system would be implemented.

Papers shuffled, chairs glided, their mahogany handles tapping as the senior clerk administrator, Nelsa Keetan and judges rose from their seats, their voices relaxed and conversational. Mason remained seated, his pen now making elegant loops on portions of his calendar, the artistic loops highlighted one particular day of the week—_Thursday_. The justice on Mason's left remained seated.

"Perry."

"Curtis."

"The wives are playing bridge tonight. Some of us are catching a few at Logan's later, would you care to join us?"

Mason noted the justice's leather binder had been rearranged and a copy of a _National Geographic_ magazine had slipped from beneath his agenda revealing the photograph on the cover. A stately matador, back arched, left arm gracefully swirling a red cape over a bloodied bull's massive head and body as the animal grazed by the matador's slender hips and charged at the photographer's lens. Pausing, Mason recalled seeing the original photograph.

"Perry?" Associate Justice Curtis Sheridan cocked his head to the side and studied his fellow justice. Larger than life, Mason filled any gathering with his presence and yet the man remained an enigma. Despite the attorney's well-known and envied public record, he had managed to maintain an equally private and inscrutable personal life.

Mason smiled urbanely, his attention still drawn to the bloodied bull charging from the shiny cover of the magazine. "Thanks, Curtis, but I have plans for the evening."

Sheridan followed his colleague's gaze and pulled out the magazine. "It's an old copy. During our next break Joy has her heart set on visiting France, Spain and Portugal. I don't know about this bullfighting stuff, though." The justice angled the magazine around; the bull's wild bulging eyes seemed to follow the viewer as it charged from the page. "The photographer must have been gutsy or just plain crazy to be in the path of this crazed beast."

Gently rubbing his fingers through his beard, Mason thoughtfully replied, "Yes, the photographer was very gutsy."

Noting Mason's intent interest in the cover, he finally offered. "Here, Perry, I'm finished with the magazine. You're welcome to have it."

Taking the National Geographic, Mason smiled. "Thanks Curt, maybe some other time on Logan's."

Curtis pushed back his chair. "Sure, Perry, maybe some other time. Later."

Mason nodded as Curtis Sheridan moved to join the others.

A few justices remained near the door leading to the hallway. Sheridan glanced back at Mason's broad shoulders as the remaining justices joined the others who had slipped out the door and into the hall.

Mason thought_, Yes, very gutsy. Without words she had invited him into her home on 15 Madrona Avenue. Her slender frame moved gracefully at his side while strong fingers touched and moved him, the air and space between them sparked with energy as she guided him through her studio. __In sotto voce she requested he not remove his coat-not wanting to break the spell between them.__One moment he braved the swirling fog, the next he sat in his trench coat studying the artist as she feverishly worked in a variety of artistic media. He understood her feverish state, the focus required to capture details and seize the essence of a complex puzzle. When working a case, organizing details, looking for connections in a broad complex picture, planning strategy, he often felt the same. Sleeping, eating became secondary to his primary goal. Not many people could understand his 'feverish state'. Despite his own physical limitations, his mind yearned to feel that 'feverish state' again, he yearned for adventure._

_The flamenco guitar, reed flute and drums faintly played in the background. The position of the lights cast contrasting shapes of light and dark all around them. While she worked he took the liberty to study the talented and focused Valentina Bernini. Her animated facial expressions were so familiar. Relaxing, he admired the way the tight jeans outlined her long muscular legs and the graceful way her agile body twisted and moved as she worked. While she was focused on capturing his essence, he was free to let his mind wander, recalling another captivating mystery and the day 'she' waltzed into his life. _

_How could he forget the tall, slender brunette with the splendid figure and long graceful legs who stood adjusting his hat on the bust of Justice Blackstone? It was late and he was tired, but the sight of her made his heart beat with a newfound energy. Her looks brought pleasure to his eyes and he managed to feast only briefly before she brought her full attention to him and smiled. What a wonderful interplay between her sparkling brown eyes and smiling full lips-they captured him with their seductiveness. _

_There was a moment of stillness between them before she smiled and greeted him. Easily his fingers slipped around hers and felt their softness and surprising strength when she introduced herself-'Della Street'. Pressed in the book tucked neatly under his arm was the letter from Laura Donaldson, a letter pleading with him to join her in Denver._

_The irony was not lost and for a moment he broke from his pose and faintly smiled. Funny. In one split second he knew….the letter quickly forgotten. He wouldn't be making that trip, not then, not ever. He had found his dance partner-for a pas de deux._

_Valentina's motions slowed from her feverish pace and released a gentle sigh. She leaned back on her stool and studied her work and the figure before her. Pleased, her features softened. As she moved, she felt him watching, studying her as much as she studied him…... a mental pas de deux._

"_Are you disappointed?" She softly asked, speaking to him for the first time since his arrival. She looked for the slightest hint of emotion in the charged silence that hung between them. The artist's serene features could not mask the intense fire in her sparkling brown eyes._

_A hint of a smile played at his eyes and lips as he analyzed all her verbal and visual cues. _

"_No," he answered simply. Tilting his head, eyeing her critically, he countered. "Are you surprised I'd find the time?"_

_Enjoying their little dance, her lashes fluttered slightly, a subtle smile on her full lips. "No," she replied._

"_It's more than a portrait isn't it?" __Probing further he asked, "I'm curious, what's the real reason for asking me here?" _

_For a moment she lowered her eyes, then a Mona Lisa smile appeared and her eyes rose seductively to meet his. Mason felt his heart quicken at her uncanny resemblance to Della Street._

"_Is it really more than a portrait, Your Honor? It is a mystery isn't it. I do wonder. What reason could possibly cause a busy judge who couldn't spare the time to suddenly drop everything to come here tonight?"_

_He softly chuckled. How he loved the twists and turns of their little dance._

The conference room had emptied leaving Mason time to open the National Geographic and turn to the beginning of the feature story; the raging bull from the cover again appeared to leap from the page. Below the photo in small print the photographer's credit revealed-_Valentina Bernini_.

**~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~**

**15 Madrona Avenue, Sausalito**

Gently plucking the strings, adjusting the tension, Valentina listened carefully for the tonal quality of each note. Sitting on the edge of her bed, looking at her reflection in the dresser mirror, she watched her fingers move over the strings on her small Ibanez acoustic guitar. The natural finish was well-worn from the movement of her hand and fingertips. Around the mahogany neck and back were nicks and scrapes from the instrument's travels and adventures from around the world.

Staring at the framed photograph on her dresser she began to play.

_Andalusia, Spain_

_They had been traveling all day north of the Guadalquivir River into the foothills of the Sierra Moreno Mountains. The three young men who were her escorts wore the typical vaquero uniform, short jackets and wide brimmed hats. Smiling and joking, they rode along astride beautiful crossbred horses. The horses, a mix of the American thoroughbred, Andalusian and Arabian horses were fabulous animals capable of speed, stamina and athletic ability. The young vaqueros were very proud of their horses and kept their mounts and equipment in excellent condition._

_The little caravan of riders and pack animals traveled away from the small village with its white washed buildings, red tiled roofs, and scattering of olive groves and vineyards on their way to the massive ganaderia, a cattle ranch specializing in the 'toros bravos', the fighting bulls. Along the trail she managed to stop and snap photographs of the grand vision of endless azure skies and the sprawling Guadalquivir River valley flanked by jagged red peaks forming the backbone of the Sierra Moreno Mountain range. She noticed her young companions becoming excited as a cloud of dust boiled just over the next rolling hill. Kicking their horses, they hastened their pace to reach the top of the rise. Spread out in the valley a herd of cattle grazed in the distance. The auburn cloud of dust was far from the contented herd. Men on horseback were careening and galloping in the swirling storm. _

_Trotting their animals into the camp, the weary riders dismounted and watched the distant commotion and the loudly cheering throng of vaqueros gathered near a make-shift finish line. Checking her camera, Valentina walked with her guides toward the group of men. An older man, who appeared to be in charge, turned to her and politely tipped his hat in greeting._

"_Senorita de bien dia!" _

"_Bona dias!" she greeted and looked around. "Hablas ingles?_

"_Ah, si, Senorita."_

"_I'm the photographer. I'm supposed to meet a writer here. National Geographic Magazine. Is he here?"_

_The older man smiled and nodded in thought. "A writer," he repeated. "I think he'll be here very soon."_

_Suddenly the sound of yelling and cheering became deafening. Valentina moved to the edge of a group that had gathered near the crude finish line. Looking in the distance at the giant red cloud of dust that churned like a tornado, she could make out horses and riders who appeared to be spinning and moving in and out of the man-made vortex. Raising the camera she snapped scene after scene. Speaking loudly to the older man while following the action through her view finder she asked, "What are they doing?"_

"_Correr el gallo! The 'chicken race', Senorita."_

"_Chicken race," she repeated, "Correr el gallo!" Snapping more pictures, the sound of the auto wind whirring in her ear she muttered to herself, "Where's that damn writer! After all this is the National Geographic!"_

_Suddenly a rider broke free of the turbulent cloud, followed by a clot of riders in hot pursuit. The lone rider leaned over his horse in full gallop, reins in one hand, a football sized object tucked protectively in the crook of his arm as he rode full force in the direction of the finish line. The young men in frantic pursuit spurred their mounts and waved their arms trying to catch the break-away rider. The men at the finish line jumped, whooped, screamed and waved their arms. _

_Feeling their excitement, Valentina positioned herself on the finish line, zeroing in on the galloping horse and rider; the pursuing mounts for the moment were out of focus in the background. Focal rings were twisted and turned as photos were snapped in quick succession, the auto wind groaned to keep up with the speeding mount's journey to Correr el Gallo glory. _

_The screaming and yelling grew louder, almost drowning out the voice of the older man who wisely warned. "Senorita, you should not be on the finish line! Move away from the line!"_

_Seconds passed as the lead horse grew larger, its black mane streaming, nostrils flaring and its hooves striking the ground like pistons. Beneath her feet the ground rumbled from the thunderous hooves of the approaching horses. The lead horse, the gray gilding and his rider, fully entered her viewfinder. Agile fingers skillfully brought the rider's face into view, a handsome face with a black mustache and dark wavy hair flowing in the wind, his denim shirt flapped revealing his bare chest. Despite the chaos behind him the mustached man's face was calm, focused and filled with purpose as he homed in on his final goal. _

_Dropping to one knee, she steadied the camera and moved the lens in and out of range while keeping the approaching horse and rider in focus. Using her camera lens she diligently tried to discover the object pressed to his bare chest. Closing in, the object stirred and thrashed revealing the blood red comb and twisted beak of a listless rooster. Startled for a moment, she continued taking photos, the charging animal now close enough to reveal the blazing white star on its forehead and the man's face and eyes filled the viewfinder—eyes the color of blue sapphires. A tingle of excitement pulsed through her as she steadily knelt on the line clicking frame after frame of the approaching storm. _

_Through her viewfinder the mustached man's eyes grew wide with surprise at the sight of a kneeling woman in his path. His hands frantically tried to pull and turn the reins of his powerful mount. The large gelding fought the bit and continued on its course like a missile hell bent on the finish line. For a terrifying moment their eyes locked through the viewfinder. Like a gazelle she sprung from her position on the line and felt the air from the charging gray missile swirl by._

_Within a split second the pursuing horses blew by and the crowd of men went wild. The mustached man, his bare skin covered with red dust swung down from the horse with the pageantry of a conquering hero, then tossed the weary rooster to the cook. The challenging vaqueros had dismounted, slapping the dust from their hair and clothes as they laughed and playfully pushed and shoved each other. One young man with a bandaged ear approached the mustached man and gave him a manly hug. Valentina captured all the revelry on film. _

_The older man slowly moved to her side and watched the excitement. "You asked about your writer. Well, Senorita, your writer has arrived."_

_Still behind her camera, she captured the scene on film taking frame after frame of the bare chested man with the sapphire blue eyes who boldly held court like the 'king of the vaqueros'. Suddenly in the midst of the merriment Valentina meet the intensity of his gaze and the intimacy in his look through the lens of her camera. _

_The older man continued. "The vaquero with the bandaged ear….. in a chicken race….. a horse bit it. Your writer… he sew it back on….very handy man, your writer."_

_Suddenly he was gone from her viewfinder and appeared in front of her. Lowering her camera, she casually inspected the dark hair covering his barrel-chest and broad shoulders before resting on his handsome face. He had the aura of a conquering hero-'a conquistador'. _

_Hands on his hips he glared down at her and in a baritone voice loudly scolded. "You could have been killed doing that!"_

_Squaring her shoulders, chin elevated, she met his glare with steely resolve and defiantly replied. "I could say the same about your riding."_

"_You have a lot of nerve!" he stated hotly._

_Eyes narrowed, her hands dropped from her camera to rest on her hips, duplicating his stance and coolly replied, "And so do you!"_

_There was a moment of stillness between them despite the wild laughter and celebrating of the vaqueros behind them. They stood transfixed and glared at each other with equal ferocity. Watching him, she noticed his eyes darting over her, inspecting her. The muscles around his nicely formed mouth begin to twitch; the movement grew more pronounced while his eyes softened and suddenly released a boyish grin._

_With equal bravado she didn't hide her own inspection of all his physical attributes. Slowly she allowed her full lips to pull into an easy smile._

Valentina's pick struck the final cord and let the sound resonate through the guitar for several seconds. The photograph on the dresser, filled with frenetic energy, a charging horse, a struggling rooster, riders in pursuit-they all seemed seemed surreal. It was the mustached man's captivating blue eyes that stole the scene-eyes that were filled with mystery and adventure_. _Beneath the photograph she had simply written- "**The Conquistador**".

~~~tbc~~~

**A special thank you to the You Tube video-Jim Stubblefield playing, "The Conquistador' for inspiring this portion of the story.**


	2. Chapter 2

_**"Pas de deux"**_

_**Chapter 2**_

_**Thursday**_

"Justice Burrows, your wife is on the line," the feminine voice announced over the intercom. "Should I put through her call?

The Justice, face flushed, elicited a groan and slipped his hands from the blouse of the young woman in his embrace and pressed his finger on the intercom.

"Ms. Hunter, ask my wife to hold." Looking down at the top of his clerk's magnificent décolletage he added, "Ms. Thiery and I are fleshing out the final details of an opinion."

"Yes, Your Honor, I'll ask her to hold," his secretary replied and the intercom became silent.

Janice Thiery had slipped from his embrace and stood at his side straightening her bra and tucking the hem of her blouse in the waistband of her skirt. The Chief Justice caught her eye, winked, sat down and leaned back in his chair. His hand trailed from her slender waist to her round hips and fantasized about the next level of their relationship. He liked them hungry, ambitious, and willing to take risks. He found the prospect of advancement and power to be the greatest of all aphrodisiacs. The pleasure of their first little encounter was enhanced by the risk of discovery and the taste of the forbidden.

The Chief Justice's clerk faked a demure smile while enjoying his ministrations.

"I can't believe we're doing this in your office," she whispered nervously. "And then your wife calls. You know you should have taken her call right then!"

The Justice waved nonchalantly and shifted his body in the large leather chair as the front of his dress pants grew uncomfortable.

"You worry too much, Janice."

The young woman was aware of his lascivious proclivities and deliberately leaned over to gather the folders on the chair beside his desk. Burrows enjoyed the view as her skirt pulled tight against her hips and the hem glided up her smooth shapely thighs.

Janice enjoyed power and control. Her heart raced with excitement knowing Burrows wanted her more than anything. She had brains and sex appeal in one dynamic package-the sleek, perfectly styled hair, flawless make-up and facials, French manicures and pedicures, and the essential grooming for swimsuits and for those private moments-the all-important Brazilian wax. Beneath the shy and demure veneer ran a calculating mind. Holding the folders in her arms she flashed the jurist a naive smile and admired the bulge she had elicited.

Clerking for Erskine Burrows, having him as a mentor, would be a dream come true for any young attorney-but her aspirations were grander. Seductively she walked to the door, turned, and caught a glimpse of his captivated gaze as he spoke into the intercom to his secretary.

A few seconds later Burrows picked up his phone and began his marital charade. "Hello, darling."

Janice Thiery smiled contentedly knowing the player was being played. She had her own agenda. She would slow the pace of his seduction, manipulate and heighten his desire to the point where he couldn't continue his pathetic marital charade any longer. She knew all the right buttons to push. Opening the door, she paused and smiled. _When the time was right she'd make her move. We'll make a beautiful power couple._

**~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~**

The large frame moved up and down on the wall as Andy, the custodian, carefully waited for the jurist's approval. Mason leaned back in his leather chair and critically watched the young man's efforts.

"A little further down." Mason instructed, checking the edges of the frame with each movement. "Perfect!"

The two men exchanged pleased smiles. Stepping back, Andy inspected his handiwork. The large painting added color and vitality to the stern and dignified atmosphere of the large chamber's dark mahogany and leather décor. Andy was pleased to have time alone with the justice. Voices outside the door in the large workroom were a constant reminder Mason's time was valuable and in a few minutes the jurist's would be needed and his time would be over.

"Splendid job, Andy."

"Thank you, Your Honor," he replied stepping back from his work and closer to the large mahogany desk.

Mason turned in his chair and watched the young man's nervous manner. The jurist relaxed manner, soothing voice and expressive eyes created an aura of approachability allowing clients to relax and bare their souls without fear of reproach.

"What is it, Andy?" Mason asked softly.

Stepping closer, the custodian slowly began to speak with emotion. "My wife and I…..we just don't know how to thank you, Your Honor. If there's anything we can do for you, anything…"

The jurist released a warm smile. The cigarettes were gone, and so was the round, decorative lighter that had always been within reach, the one he manipulated so often to release nervous energy during his legal practice. In his new life the lighter had been replaced by his fountain pen. The slender instrument glided through his fingers as he thought and recalled their encounter weeks earlier.

It had been a long difficult day on the bench. He had wearily descended to the reserved section of the garage for his own car rather than the car service. As his car circled to the exit his headlights swept over a disabled vehicle and its frustrated owner leaning against the raised hood. Immediately he stopped at the sight of a familiar face. After a brief conversation and a quick look under the hood, the problem was revealed—a dead battery. He had also learned the battery was the least of Andy's problems and the young man found a sympathetic ear.

Leaning forward, Mason looked down at the pen nervously moving in his fingertips and softly replied. "You needn't thank me, Andy. I was glad I could help."

Anxiously, the custodian looked to the side, expecting to hear a knock at any moment, and reached into his hip pocket and withdrew his wallet and opened it.

"I have a picture. I thought you might want to see her."

Mason took the wallet and the photo of an infant.

Gently, his finger moved over the photograph, admiring the child's dark wispy hair and bright sparkling eyes. "She's beautiful, Andy."

The custodian shook his head in disbelief. "The attorney you suggested, she's something else. She told me she owed you one and that she'd handle the adoption case for free."

Mason softly chuckled; eyes still looking at the photo, his mind drifting.

"For free," Andy repeated in disbelief. "We wanted this baby so bad…you know…since Holly couldn't." He watched the jurist holding his wallet, admiring his new daughter. "Do you have any children of your own, Your Honor?"

Thoughts filled Mason's mind as he took a deep breath, smiled wanly then lifted his eyes to meet those of the proud father.

"No. But I understand your reason for wanting to be a father, Andy." Handing back the wallet, he added, "And I know you will be a good father to your little girl."

The custodian nodded. "Oh, yes," he reassured and carefully slipped the wallet back into his pocket. "Don't worry, Your Honor, I'll be the best father, I promise."

Andy knew the all of the judges on his floor and had grown accustom to their personalities. Associate Justice Mason had impressed him right away. With an air of sophisticated dignity the big man had surprised him with his down to earth manner. The Associate Justice's easy smile had changed in their last exchange and an uncomfortable silence had eerily descended-his question about Mason's family had struck a nerve.

Smiling and nodding, Andy turned and collected his tools as he moved to the door. "Your Honor, I've taken enough of your time. My wife and I just wanted to express our thanks."

"Andy."

Hand on the knob, the custodian turned and waited.

"You're welcome." The two men exchanged warm smiles as the custodian eased out the door. Little did Andy know the depth of Mason's dedication.

Turning in his chair Mason heaved a weary sigh, closed his eyes and thought of Peggy Smith. Long ago the little girl had captured their hearts, especially Della's. The little orphan and her nine little dolls and then the baby left in their office. Della took the little boy, Leander, into her care and lovingly protected the infant. Little Peggy and baby Leander had exposed feelings and desires hidden just below the surface for both of them. Marriage. Adoption. Careers. The essence of their lifestyle...was it too late for them?

Cases and time marched on and their private desires lay hidden just below the surface-and then the unthinkable happened-the death of a friend.

_How far would you go for a friend? No. How far would you go for someone you love? _

Mason opened his eyes and turned his attention to the painting covering the wall of his chamber, the painting with the lock and key signature and the image of the veiled woman at Café Lacombe.

_How far would you go for the woman you love? Forever wouldn't be far enough._

Resting his chin on his fist he contemplated his life and reminisced about Paris when all was right in their world.

_The International Bar Association Conference in London had been stimulating and informative at the onset but as the week progressed, the conference grew predictable, and oh so conventional. With each passing day he grew more restless, yearning for novelty, mental challenges and Della Street. Then a cryptic invitation arrived. _

_Walking along the busy Champs Elysee he felt a sense of liberation as he enjoyed the endless summertime atmosphere of Paris, the warm breezes, the fragrant air and the streets alive with people. Nearing Café Lacombe, the flower girls in their near transparent summer dresses oozed romance and a palpable sexual energy. _

_At every turn the city pulsed with energy, theaters, fine restaurants, art galleries, museums, fashionable nightspots and shops displaying haute couture and anything else one could desire. The city was the ultimate escape, an enclave of unimaginable fantasy far from judging eyes. The aroma of roasted lamb, chocolate and fresh pastries wafted from the interior of the café as he found an empty table and chair on the sidewalk. He was a half hour early, enough time to relax, enjoy a glass of cognac and engage in his favorite past time-the study of human nature. _

_With a brief perusal of the menu he placed his order with a passing server and began to relax beneath the shade. The patrons spilling from the cafe proved an interesting study. Businessmen pouring over their newspapers, ladies idling chatting and lovers leaning close with their fingers and eyes caressing, exploring, their conversations sensuously whispered. Admiring the bright colors of the umbrellas and hanging pots of vibrant flowers an unexpected pleasure caught his attention in the far corner of the sidewalk café-an elegant woman dining alone._

_He was immediately drawn to her long shapely legs crossed beneath a sleek black dress. Completing the haute couture ensemble was a small coquettish hat and a long silver pheasant feather that fluttered each time she turned her head. Unfortunately a netted veil concealed most of her face and only allowed her red ripe lips to be seen. The arrival of his glass of cognac interrupted his voyeurism. Sipping the drink, he nodded approvingly to the server and again casually scanned the café and sidewalk for Della. He returned his attention to the veiled woman who sat parallel to him. Casting sidelong glanced he was allowed the freedom to study her. He was curious, would she remain alone for long. And what type of man would satisfy the pleasure of his mystery woman? He watched with fascination._

_Turning the stem of her wine glass with long slender fingers she brought the liquid to lips the color of the strawberries she enjoyed. Delicately touching the corner of her napkin to her mouth, she dipped the ripe strawberry in a dish of melted chocolate, then slowly her lips and tongue would sample the decadent confectionary. _

_The vision of her lips enjoying the chocolate hold him in a trance, his breathing slowed as the red juicy fruit disappeared. Again, the napkin dabbed at the corner of her mouth-and the spell was broken. With a giant sigh he turned his head and checked the time and frowned. His eyes tirelessly scanned the café and surroundings when suddenly a motion caught his attention. Eyes wide, he sat up and took notice. A man had taken the seat across from his veiled beauty. The man was brutally handsome. The light silk shirt accentuated the playboy's tanned skin acquired on the beaches of the French Riviera and the dark hair and muscular physique filled him with confidence as he boldly sat down, leaned across the table and engaged his companion in conversation. Smiling, nodding, his prediction was correct-his beauty would not be dining alone. Checking the time, he looked again for Della Street._

A knock on the door returned him to reality. Leslie Marks eased opened the door. "Excuse me, Your Honor, do you have a moment? I have a rough opinion for the Huxley case."

Mason leaned forward, flipped open his leather binder and turned to his notes and documents on the case. "I'm anxious to read your merits, Ms. Marks."

"Yes, Your Honor." Leslie replied and recalled the arguments presented while operating the timing clock and signals for oral presentations. While the three Associate Justices retired to their conference room, she and the other clerks had quietly discussed the merits of the case and their projected outcome.

With an air of caution Leslie eased across the room, handed the document to the jurist, and sat in the chair by his desk. Mason slipped a pair of slender wire reading glasses from his breast pocket and put them on. Looking over the top of the lens, he smiled. "You look nervous, Leslie."

Hands neatly folded in her lap, the young woman faintly smiled. "I suppose I am Your Honor. I know it should be getting easier, but…." Her voice trailed off.

Mason chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. "I wish I could tell you this whole process gets easier, but I'm afraid instead, you'll only get tougher." Again he laughed. "I remember burning the midnight oil on many occasions when I started out. Why? Because my mentor, Bull Johnson, the best trial lawyer in the state of California, felt the brief was not to his standards and for the next thirty minutes he proceeded to explain its deficiencies. Yes, Leslie, you'll only get tougher."

The young woman gave a nervous laugh and patiently waited while her mentor began the inspection of what was to become their opinion. Leaning back in his big leather chair, Mason read and allowed his fingertips to run through and along his salt and pepper beard.

Slowly, Leslie began to relax and enjoy their time together. Yes, actually enjoy their time together. As always their greeting was formal, but as they sat and talked, she relished the dropped formality and the use of 'Leslie'. Would she ever have the nerve to call him 'Perry'? A small smile appeared at the thought of such intimacy. She watched him read. No, for now she would be content to enjoy the nice smell of his cologne, the way the light glistened on his hair and the miracle of how every hair managed to always be neatly in place. She liked his midnight blue suit and vest, a watch chain dangled from the vest pocket, the crisp white shirt and the burgundy tie held in place by a gold stick pen. She liked the tie pin and the gold cuff links; they were such an elegant touch. She was amazed how he could move with such surprising grace and agility for a man his size.

And then suddenly she felt his eyes looking over the lens again and tried to hide her surprise. His eyebrow shot up and a dimple appeared in his cheek as he grinned. "You've cited People vs. Jorgensen, we're pressing the envelope aren't we, Leslie!"

The young woman gave pause and studied his face carefully_. 'It doesn't get any easier, "you'' only get tougher.' _Lifting her chin, squaring her shoulders she allowed her eyes to coolly meet his then replied, "Yes, Your Honor, but I think if you read further, you'll see the links and commonality. I think this case strongly supports the decision to grant Mr. Huxley a new trial. And may I speak freely?"

Mason nodded and felt a sense of pride. His clerk was developing spunk, he liked that.

"Your Honor, it's in my opinion that Judge Hinton, is…" Leslie paused, searching for the correct word to diplomatically express her feelings. Mason slipped off his glasses and rubbed his lip with the plastic ear piece and patiently waited.

"Well, Your Honor, this is not the first case Judge Hinton has had reversed. I've done a little research of my own and I've found Judge Hinton has more reversals than any other judge in our district. In my opinion I would say this jurist is sloppy bordering on incompetent."

Mason nodded, glanced at the document and then back at his clerk. "Pressing the envelope and now challenging the competency of a superior court judge, my, my, my," the jurist chided. Suddenly Leslie felt she had overstepped her boundaries when he raised his hand to her.

"You're right."

The young woman nervously toyed with the ring on her finger and couldn't believe her ears.

Quickly he read the remaining paragraphs and looked up at her surprised face.

"You're absolutely right, Leslie. Judge Hinton is sloppy. He chooses expediency at the expense of fairness and as a result puts our judicial system and the fundamental Rule of Law in jeopardy-as well as wasting taxpayer money. There's a judicial watchdog group on his trail and we may see a change on the bench."

Leslie felt elated and fought the impulse to reach out and touch him. His words, his praise was intoxicating.

Leaning forward, placing the opinion on his blotter, Mason made numerous notations, marked through passages, made little corrections while the amazed young woman looked on. Finally, turning the last page, he looked up and handed over the document.

"As you said, it is a rough draft. Make the corrections and we'll look at it tomorrow."

Feeling breathless, she stood and smiled. "Thank you, Your Honor. I'll get right on it." The clerk moved to the door when his voice caused her to pause.

"Many years ago Bull Johnson took a young lawyer under his wing because he thought he saw promise. Today I see a young lawyer with promise. You have good instincts and a creative mind. You have the makings for a fine trial lawyer, Leslie."

The law clerk felt light-headed, gripped the door knob for support and tried not to sound breathless when she replied. "Thank you, Your Honor. I'll have this ready for you tomorrow." Nodding, and smiling she floated out the door.

As the door clicked behind Leslie Marks, Mason pushed back his chair, crossed his legs and released an easy smile.

_Yes, he did like a woman with spunk._

Turning his eyes again to the painting and the veiled woman he resumed his reverie.

_The dapper young man continued to woo, leaning in, smiling, and fondling between his fingertips her lacy black gloves. The veiled beauty remained aloof and uninterested. Or was this all a game to entice and seduce her young paramour? Boldly the dark haired man took a fresh strawberry from her plate, dipped it into the dark chocolate, brought the fruit to his lips and then with his tongue removed the dripping chocolate in preparation for his final overture-the kiss. _

_Mason found their romantic charade fascinating. Swirling the cognac in his glass, he continued to glance about for his secretary who was uncharacteristically late when suddenly the scraping of metal drew everyone's attention to the corner table. The young Lochinvar had leaped from his chair, and was in the process of frantically dabbing at the spreading blossom of red wine on his white shirt. Muttering curses in French, he gestured at the veiled woman who casually gathered her purse and gloves and quickly walked away from the frantic scene while sidewalk patrons looked on. _

_Mason smiled with amusement and finished his glass of cognac._

_Yes, he did like a woman with spunk. _

_Rounding the tables with swaying hips, the veiled woman glided by his table leaving a seductive trail of perfume and sensuality. Instinctively his head turned to watch her retreat and was struck by an odd and familiar feeling. And then he saw it-a black lacy glove on the pavement by his chair. Quickly he scooped up the lost item and scanned the crowded street. The black hat with its distinctive silver pheasant feather could easily be seen moving through the crowded street. Bringing the lacy glove to his face he inhaled the heady perfume and contemplated his next move. _

The imagery of the painting and the illusion of sweet perfume had lulled him into a dreamy, heavy lidded state. A knock at his door caused his eyes and mind to lazily drift to the doorway. A woman, her back to the door-the woman-Della Street-her shapely hips pressed the palms of her flattened hands against the door along with a look-that particular look. The unique and singular look that was hers alone, a look like no other-a look that conveyed the message that she and she alone possessed a delectable tidbit, a tantalizing mystery.

"_Now what mischief are you up to?" he asked._

"_Mischief" she inquired demurely._

"_Mischief," he repeated with eyes dark and dusky, enjoying their shared moment. _

_Della Street raised her chin provocatively, prolonging the moment as she smiled and continued to press her hands and hips against the door._

_Amused and impatient, Mason's eyebrow arched, grinned and chided, "You know you're too big to spank…..and too valuable to fire." # _

The door clicked shut followed by footsteps near the jurist desk that snapped Mason back to reality.

Associate Justice C. C. Caldwell eased by his desk and casually turned to face the astonished attorney who remained seated before her.

"Yes, I'm up to mischief," C.C. confided playfully.

Mason was not sure how much of his daydream had been shared and immediately started an explanation. "C. C. I'm so…"

"For that salacious look you flashed me?"

Mason exhibited a boyish grin along with flushed cheeks. _Was it possible to feel twenty again?_

Playfully she touched his shoulder and teased. "You don't need to explain, Perry, that look alone made me feel all of twenty."

Mason relaxed and sat back in his chair and watched her lithe figure clad in a conservative gray business suit move to inspect his new acquisition. C.C's own office had the atmosphere of the old West with Albert Bierstadt paintings and Frederic Remington statuary. Besides Bierstadt and Remington there were framed photos taken at her ranch, of favorite horses and classic photos of the late, D. C. "Sparky" Caldwell, a colorful and prominent San Joaquin district attorney. A woman of taste and talent, Mason was anxious to hear her appraisal of his acquired art.

"Very nice, Perry. I knew when you joined the court you'd bring class to the place. You're creating quite a stir as a bon vivant."

Again Mason elicited a deep chuckle and shook his head. "Bon vivant! Certainly you jest!"

Leaning closer, inspecting the brush strokes and details, C.C. announced, "I think I remember this sidewalk café in Paris. It's interesting how a painting can bring back memories as well as evoke so many emotions for so many people."

The profound nature of her own words caused her to pause and reminisce with a mixture of joy and sadness. Pulling her arms together in a comforting embrace she softly confided. "Sparky and I spent our honeymoon in Paris. Ah, what a glamorous and romantic city," she sighed. "We had the time of our lives."

Leaning to the side of his chair, his chin leisurely propped on his fist, Mason silently listened to his friend's fond memories.

"Looking back, we were newlyweds, I can't believe we didn't leave our hotel room for two whole days…..only ordering room service," C.C. confided, then giggled self-consciously, before adding, "Of course we blamed it on jet lag." Covering her lips in mock embarrassment she turned to Mason. "Now look who's being salacious!"

Shaking his head, enjoying their time together, Mason rose from his chair and moved to her side as she continued

"David Charles, D. C. Caldwell certainly earned the nickname "Sparky". He definitely had a 'spark' about him. He was the type of person who could light up a room with his mere presence. He was proud of my judgeship but felt his own calling was in the prosecutor's office. He was a victim's advocate, a tenacious hunter ferreting out the truth, bringing justice for victims of crime. You know his conviction record as a prosecutor in San Joaquin county remains unmatched…..and none of his cases were overturned. Sparky was one of a kind, some say he broke the mold."

An easy silence fell between them, an easy friendship. C.C. turned and faced her colleague. "You'll never guess how Sparky proposed?"

Mason shook his head.

"On horseback of all places. While riding late one afternoon on his ranch, Sparky wanted to show me his favorite place in the whole wide world. The sun was slipping below the horizon and the sky glowed shades of orange and red. He nudged his horse up to mine, pulled me to him and kissed me. He announced his favorite place in the world was by my side and that he loved me. He let me know that he wanted to grow old with me and would I be willing to grow old with him and I said yes." C.C.'s eyes glistened, managed a smile and added. "Sparky was definitely a man who knew what he wanted in this world. He was a straight shooter and always spoke his mind-with Sparky you always knew where you stood."

Again they were silent.

Mason's eyes traveled again to the lone woman in the corner of Café Lacombe.

_How many times had he proposed_?

The inky black sky of the desert revealed thousands upon thousands of stars filling the sky all the way to the horizon. By the glow of a campfire, Salty Bowers, the old prospector, laughed and suggested a marrying party-three couples instead of two. Beneath the stars, Della by his side, he expressed his desires to settle down and, yes, like Sparky Caldwell, he hoped she would grow old with him. But then he knew so well how events could change people's lives.

The thought, the idea of marriage-it was all moot now.

The silence was broken by C.C.'s gentle sigh and the need to move on, the justice casually observed. "The mysterious symbol of your artist is unique-a lock and keys-keys with initials on them."

Mason merely nodded.

Thinking out loud, C.C. continued. "I suppose a lock and key are unique to each other to the exclusion of all others. They work and function together as one, but yet not totally complete without the other. It certainly is interesting symbolism." Turning her head to the side, studying the initials on the keys she added. "Did you notice a 'V' on one key and a 'T' on the other? The artist's initials perhaps? Maybe the initials represent the initials of two people who are uniquely joined like the lock and key. Either way it's an interesting concept worth researching… you know, two people- like a lock and key."

Again, Mason nodded. "Like you and Sparky?"

C.C. sighed and looked up at the man at her side whose company and attention she enjoyed to the exclusion of all others. _Yes, you're right, like my beloved Sparky. But given a chance, Perry….. you and I could be that lock and key. If only… _

The thought was too much to suppress and C.C. could only manage a simple, 'Yes, I suppose so…' response to his comment before quickly changing the subject. "Looking at your painting almost made me forget the real reason I stopped by. I wanted to thank you for volunteering to be on the philharmonic executive board. Once Doctor Channing became ill and had to step down we desperately needed someone to fill his position."

Perry Mason slipped his hands into his pants pocket, shrugged his shoulders, "It's the least I could do under the circumstances. And if you will recall, you were extremely persuasive, Your Honor."

Glad to be on a new topic where they could laugh and banter, C.C. playfully laughed and confided, "Someone actually suggested Beatrice Blanding for Freddie's position…"

"_The_ Beatrice Blanding, the well-known matriarch, philanthropist and…."

C.C. gasped before he could go on, rolled her eyes and explained, "Oh, Perry, the woman goes on and on about the most minute details. Talk about 'cruel and unusual punishment', I couldn't bear the thought of sitting through endless board meetings with her incessant chatter. You have saved us all from excruciating pain."

Amused, Mason smiled and mused at _C.C.'s similarity to Della Street, the charm, the charisma, the animated banter_.

"Well, I'm glad I could provide such a humanitarian service."

C.C. slender fingers reached out and touched his arm. "To express my gratitude I'd like to prepare dinner for you some evening."

"Is this also a humanitarian service, Your Honor?"

Flashing a coy smile C.C. replied, "I can promise it won't be cruel and unusual punishment. Next Thursday?"

Brows furrowed, Mason replied. "I'm sorry I have a standing commitment on Thursday. I'll have Gloria check my calendar and get back with you."

"Of course. And again, I thank you and the philharmonic thanks you. It will be so enjoyable having you at our meetings." Barely containing her enthusiasm, C.C. again placed her hand on his arm, enjoying their moment of closeness as they walked to his door. Mason's hand covered hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"It will be my pleasure, C.C."

"And mine," she replied, allowing her fingers to slip from his arm as she walked to the door and prepared to open it. Eyes narrowed in thought, C.C. looked once again at the lone woman in the painting and remembered his salacious look. Pausing, pressing her hands and hips against the door she taunted and toyed. "Perry, you know you're right."

Mason hesitated on his way to his desk, turned, his eyes moving in thought in an attempt to read C.C.'s cryptic tone and expressive manner- the pressing of her hands and hips against the door.

"You know you're right," she coyly announced, "I am too big to spank…and too valuable to fire." Eyes twinkling with mischief and a smile playing on her lips she slipped out the door.

With the click of the door behind his fellow justice Mason elicited a hearty chuckle and shook his head. "You little vixen," he muttered. C.C. Caldwell continued to amuse and amaze. Her personality and friendship had made his time on the court bearable by making even the mundane more interesting. By spending time with C.C. he was able to understand Sparky Caldwell's attraction to the feisty brunette. It was obvious, Sparky Caldwell, also enjoyed a woman with spunk. Glancing again at the painted lock and key, Mason felt an even greater appreciation of its symbolism. Slipping his hand from his pocket he ran his fingertips along the angle of his bearded jaw and recalled the image of the spitfire who left behind a flustered and frustrated French playboy and a black lacy glove.

_The sleek, distinctive gray pheasant feather on the rakish black hat served as a beacon above the pedestrians on the street similar to the Eiffel Tower's elegant presence above the city of Paris. The thought of a pursuit through the shops and streets of Paris filled him with a shot of adrenaline. Any fatigue from his flight from London began to easily disappear. Clutching the lacy glove between his fingertips he knew what he had to do and was off. Passing shop after shop the pheasant feather bounced and fluttered above the sea of heads moving along the sidewalk. The congestion made his pursuit more difficult, his long legs and skill on the dance floor allowed him to maneuver around and through groups of people and yet he was only able to maintain visual contact. _

_Suddenly the feather darted into a shop, L'Artisan Parfumeur. Bright lights illuminated decorative alcoves filled with exotic scents from around the world. A cloud of scents enveloped him as he moved through and around patrons plying their pulse points with fragrant botanicals. The names fashionably placed on stylish and ornate decanters and aerosols throbbed with descriptions of love and passion. In the corner, near the exit, the feather fluttered then disappeared from view. On the move again, sliding through the aisles and out on the street again he glanced in both directions and homed in on the wayward feather. _

_The street was lined with temptations of every description. The sweet smell of chocolate filled the air and the feather disappeared again into a brightly illuminated La Maison-du-chocolat, premier chocolatiers. Moving into the shop, Mason passed two women staring covetously at the chocolate confectionaries and overheard their conversation._

"_It's the food of the gods," one woman said in a heavy accent. Nodding, her friend replied, "It's better than sex." Heads nodding in agreement, they both softly laughed. _

_Mason gave the women a side-long glance and smiled as he walked by. One woman nudged the other, so both could take the opportunity to fully admire the handsome lawyer and returned his smile as Mason gracefully moved through the shop. Standing taller than the patrons who stooped to admire the chocolates behind the glass counters, Mason took the opportunity to scour the boutique. Frowning, the lawyer feared he had lost his veiled beauty, when he caught a glimpse of movement near a far counter and saw the feather wave before disappearing out the exit and onto the street. Moving like dancer, he tangoed down the aisle and quickly stepped out onto the street._

_Mason felt his heart racing, the pursuit exhilarating as he glanced up and down the street. The sun was dipping behind the trees along the avenue and the street lights began to blink on. Suddenly there was new urgency. Tracking the illusive feather by street-light would test every skill-the challenge was intoxicating. A distant street light flickered revealing the flutter from the undulating plume. The lawyer's long legs covered the distance but only managed to keep her within sight, but not within reach. Skirting groups and couples, his eyes never left his prize. Again, light from a boutique revealed the stylish hat and its coquettish feather as it disappeared into the crowded business. _

_The front window of the shop was filled with life-like models draped in lace and silk. Mason's pace slowed, keeping the flirtatious feather within sight while being drawn to the models lining his path. His eyes and fingers caressed the silky material of each new design while moving through the aisles. Full figured models dressed in revealing negligees and Chantilly lace bustiers slowed his progress. His masculine eyes drawn to the laces, snaps, and hooks on the full breasted models gave his mind pause, a man of action, he contemplated the fasteners and the manual dexterity required to release the feminine virtues from their bondage. Reminded of the lacy black glove his fingers checked for its safety in his breast pocket and was reminded of his mission. A voice cleared in the crowded shop. His attention drawn to the counter, a flutter of movement, then the crimson lips below a black net pulled into a dazzling smile-a reward for his diligence or perhaps his progress. Mason grinned. In a second the smile and veiled had disappeared. _

_Attempting to close the distance, Mason bumped into an elderly man and a woman young enough to be his daughter. Expressing his apologizes, "Pardon. Excusez moi." The lawyer couldn't help a second look at the mismatched couple while shaking his head and running out into the street. Looking in either direction, he managed to catch sight of the shapely woman in black, feather fluttering, gesturing for a taxi. _

_Mason rushed down the street toward the stopped taxi. The car's door opened and the woman disappeared. In an instant the car pulled from the curb and moved down the street. Visibly flustered, Mason kept his eye on the rear of the taxi and placed its number to memory. He dashed to the curb and waved in the next taxi. The door opened. The driver grinned ,having seen the sizzling flash of shapely legs of the striking woman who had slipped into the car ahead followed on foot by the tall handsome man entering his cab. The taxi driver was happy to have the vicarious thrill_

_Mason's brain raced to find the proper words to express his desires to the French cabbie. Finally he blurted out, "Suivez ce taxi! Numero de 2649!"_

_The car lurched forward. The driver, use to maneuvering through traffic, turned to the anxious man who hung on to his back seat. In a thick French accent, he spoke his best English. _

"_Alas, another in pursuit of love. I will do my best to follow your cab, Mr. American!" _

_Mason slipped from his pocket the equivalent of fifty American dollars to the driver's hand._

_The cabbie grinned. "Thank you, monsieur! You will be 'dancing' with your lady tonight, I assure you."_

_Hands gripping the seat, the glove safely in his breast pocket, Mason felt a surge of adrenaline and desire-a perfect pairing-a perfect gift._

_The cabbie grinned and sang while he whipped the car through the busy street with Mason hanging on as the car rocked and rolled through each turn and lane change, all while maintaining cab number 2649 in sight. Famous landmarks zipped by along Champs-Elysees, the famous Arc looming in the windshield._

_Whizzing out into the round-about, the cabbie turned and grinned, "As they say in show beezness, 'hang on, it's going to be a bumpy ride.' And with that the cab lurched at an angle throwing Mason sideways. Grinning, the lawyer held on to the back seat and noted the name on the cab license._

"_The bumpier the better, Maurice!" Mason urged. Flying around the roundabout, darting between cars, Maurice homed in on cab number 2649 like a Spitfire's sights on an escaping Zero, while the elegantly illuminated Arc de Triomphe floated by. Again, Maurice warned, "Hold on!" Mason and Maurice leaned as the car rolled into an abrupt turn shooting off and down Avenue d'lena. In the distance, lights outlined the shape of the Eiffel Tower. Mason leaned forward, catching sight of the elegant tower through the windshield as Maurice sang._

"_A pretty girl is like a melody….." Looking up into the rearview mirror, the suave little driver grinned. "Don't you agree, Mr. American?"_

_Before Mason could reply, Maurice had slammed on the brakes, throwing them forward and then to the side as he adroitly maneuvered the vehicle around a car that had suddenly stopped in front of them. The tower and bridge loomed ahead. Crossing Pont d'lena, Mason turned and caught sight of the beautiful Trocadero Palace and Gardens from the rear of the taxi. Slowly releasing his breath, Mason turned his attention again to cab 2649 and found it two cars ahead. _

_Reaching the park surrounding the tower, the cars slowed and cab 2649 slipped to the curb. Quickly Mason removed his wallet and removed fare plus a generous tip. Ahead the door opened in the beam of the headlight. Arms laden with boutique treasures, a pair of shapely legs made their appearance, then bounded to the pavement and strutted away. _

_Grinning, Maurice watched his excited passenger scramble for the door. Calling through the open passenger window, he shouted words of encouragement._

"_Hurry! Hurry! You will be 'dancing' with your lady tonight!" Waving his hand, voice softer, "Don't let love slip through your fingers, Mr. American!"_

_The lawyer waved his hand, his long legs covering the distance to the tower elevators in record time. Slipping through the crowd gathered at the base, he watched in amazement as the elevator to the fashionable Eiffel restaurant closed and began its ascent. Too late. Catching his breath, he waited as another car slowly descended and stepped into line._

Suddenly a touch and a voice pulled him back to reality.

"Perry," Gloria Steiner's deep, well-modulated voice called his name. "Are you alright?"

Taking in a deep breath, Mason looked up at his secretary's face. "Of course, Gloria, I'm fine." Taking note of Gloria's penetrating gaze he added, "I was just thinking about the Huxley opinion that's all."

The stately brunette clutched her larger organizer in her arms, and studied the jurist. Gloria prided herself in being a professional. She was good at what she did having spent her entire life in the legal profession. The court was her life. And this man, Perry Mason, Associate Justice on the Court of Appeals had become part of her life when he joined the court. She had made a point to study his habits, needs, and generally what made him tick, in order to make sure he was successful in his duties. Entering Mason's chambers she found the jurist totally absorbed…..or was it daydreaming.

Letting the moment pass, Gloria smiled, knowing she had caught him in the act. _Did he really think he could fool her? _She glanced down at her organizer and stated. "Perry, it's time to grease the wheels of justice."

Mason shook his head and laughed. "You're a relentless, Gloria."

"I get paid extra for 'relentless'," his secretary replied.

The lawyer moved to pick up his leather organizer, turned his knee and winced with pain.

Gloria noticed right away. "Knee again?"

Mason massaged the aching joint and cursed under his breath.

Moving to their work table, Gloria pulled out their chairs, moved the folders, books and binders so they could work side by side and called over her shoulder. "Did you take your meds at noon?"

He nodded, picked up his leather binder and limped to the work table to sit next to her. Shoulder to shoulder they opened their agendas and began to coordinate the jurist's schedule, starting with cases, meetings, outside obligations while working around Mason's private schedule. The banter was lively, the process give and take as they coordinated times and dates, like dancers on the dance floor, they moved with an elegant efficiency- a practiced dance for two.

Sitting beneath the glow of the overhead light, the shadows deepening, Gloria penciled in an appointment, looked at her watch and shook it. Without thinking, Mason reacted and gently took her wrist in his fingers and stopped her motion.

"You're watch is not broken, Della." Still looking at her watch, his fingers gently caressed her wrist and added. "Yes, it's late and I think we should call it a day."

Gloria's eyes warmed and made a mental note-only twenty Della's today. _I wonder….where is your Della? Is she in an office somewhere? Is she working late? _Glancing at the Parisian painting, Gloria knew only too well how a man and woman could drift apart. How they still might be in each other's thoughts- and dreams? And maybe it was even possible they could still love each other?

"Yes, it is late," she agreed and watched his fingers slip from her wrist, aware he had overstepped his boundaries. They both began to speak then stopped. Searching the other's face they simultaneously released nervous smiles. Gloria broke the silence.

"Perry, I think we know each other very well by now. We're both rough and tumble veterans who have been around the block more than a few times. I would hope by now you would know you don't have to explain or pretend with me."

Mason smiled and explored her dark brown eyes. "I know... and thank you."

"You know you're always welcome."

Nodding, he replied, "I know."

Gloria stood, pushed in her chair, smoothed down the front of her tailored gray suit, and carefully closed her agenda. Knowing the complex nature of her dance partner, she easily resumed the rhythm of their relationship.

"I do have one item needing your signature before you leave….… a little unfinished business."

Mason nodded and watched her disappear through the door.

_Unfinished business, he mused. _

_The crowded elevator rose above the city. The lights of the tower illuminated the shape of the dark steel structure. All around the city lights fanned out revealing a complicated network of streets, and illuminated landmarks. The elevator slowed, then stopped at the level of the restaurant. The transparent doors opened and patrons flowed into the lobby. Immediately his eyes began the search. Was it possible she was already seated? _

_The maitre'd checked his book for reservations and the small crowd slowly began to disappear. The tall well-dressed man caught his attention and he inquired, "Puis-je t'aider? Vous cherchez quelqu'un?"_

_Mason stepped closer, eyes moving in thought, trying to recall the most basic French from his service years. "Qui. Je suis a la recherché."_

_Yes, he thought, you can help me. I am looking for someone. A woman. Again, he drew on his experience in Europe after the war. _

_Slipping a bill from his pocket, he discreetly placed it in the man's hand before he continued. "Une femme. Une femme en partiulier."_

_The man smiled, nodded, and watched the dark haired man pull a single lacy glove from his breast pocket. The maître'd's eyes brightened._

_Mason felt the adrenaline pumping, enjoying the chase and the challenge. The woman has lost a glove, he wanted to say. "Un femme." Moving the lonely glove back and forth, he added. "Une femme. Elle a perdue un gant."_

"_Un gant?" _

_Mason grinned, and swayed the single glove back and forth. Good, he thought. The woman has lost a glove. Pursing his lips he tried desperately to find the proper words. Taking his hands, he moved them to show seductive curves. _

"_Ahh," the maitre'd groaned and imitated the lawyer's actions. Together they nodded. The hat, the feather, what's the word for feather? He used his hands to show a hat and then the shape of the exotic feather. "Une plume!" he finally blurted._

"_Une plume?"_

"_Qui, un plume…..ahhh…..de Faison!'_

"_Ahhh.. qui…..un femme….une plume de Faison argente."_

"_Qui!" Mason grinned broadly at their success._

_The little man bowed, and smiled. "Suis-moi, monsieur."_

_Together they moved through the dimly lit restaurant. Circular in shape, the exterior walls were glass from ceiling to floor. The exclusive tables on the periphery seemed to be floating in a sea of lights-a sea of stars. The little man paused, and gestured with his head to a table. Seated at a table for two, his mystery woman sat with her back to him, the flagrant feather beckoning. _

_Mason released a sigh. "Qui! Bein jouer! Merci beaucoup!"_

_The maitre'd shrugged his shoulders as if to say it was nothing, then waved his hand. "De rien," he called over his shoulder as he returned to his station, only taking a moment to pause and check the progress of his lovers. Taking a deep vicarious breath he sighed. ".….ahhhh la magie de le coup de foudre!"_

_The magic of love at first sight, he thought of the words of the maitre'd. Yes, it certainly was love at first sight many years ago-it was true-he was smitten by the dark haired beauty adjusting the hat on Justice Blackstone. _

_The flame from the small votive candle swayed, illuminating the stylish black dress elegantly trimmed with a hint of silver -the same silver of the pheasant feather and its neat rows of black bars. A long, shapely leg peeked from beneath the white damask table cloth. Easing closer, his hands tentatively touched the back of the chair across from her causing her to face him. The black netting had been elegantly swept to the side and a pair of knowing eyes studied him. The lips-red, ripe and seductive were slightly parted. Slowly he pulled the chair from the table and eased into it, moved it closer, then dropped to one knee to be near her. _

_With a sweeping motion of her right hand a lacy glove glided along the angle of her jaw, accentuating her slender neck and seductive décolletage. _

_The mate to the black lacy glove slowly emerged from the lawyer's breast pocket. Eyes sparkling, her lips formed a circle and displayed the bare skin of her left hand on the table. Wordlessly, they watched as his finger trailed from her wrist along the palm of her outstretched hand. The touch was soft and the feminine sigh barely audible. Taking her hand in his, he brought the back of her hand to his lips and stared into her eyes._

"_Your feminine charms are never more bewitching as when you are up to skullduggery."_

_A pair of thick lashes were lowered then demurely raised as the tip of her tongue moistened her lip._

_Gently his lips caressed before kissing the bare skin of her hand, then turning it palm up to kiss it again. The errant lacey black glove had been placed on the white table cloth-unnoticed._

_Leaning, closer, his woman of mystery whispered, "I've been waiting for my prince charming."_

_The lawyer leaned closer. "To return your glove?"_

"_And….." she whispered, and moistened her lips again._

"_To pursue you through every boutique in Paris," he whispered._

"_And…" she softly sighed, enjoying the touch of his lips on her hand._

"_To show me what lies ahead?"_

"_And…" she softly cooed._

"_To show you you're the only woman I could ever love." _

_Suddenly the light from the candle produced a shower of brilliant flashes. A ring-an amethyst ring circled with diamonds. Slowly he slipped the ring on her finger._

Again, a voice, the sound of paper on his desk and Gloria Steiner's sigh of exasperation plus an annoyed glance at the Parisian painting.

"Your signature," she coached.

Mason leaned over his desk, and rubbed his aching knee. "What am I signing, Gloria?"

Hand on her hip, lips pursed, she replied. "The letter you asked me to type. The one you said needed to be sent out tonight."

"Oh…that letter."

Gloria gave a throaty chuckle, gathered the signed letter, folded it and slipped it into the addressed envelope. "Honestly, Perry! You'd think I was having you sign away a kidney!"

Mason looked up and grinned. "You know lawyers, we're a suspicious lot!"

Walking to the door, Gloria half-turned, and replied. "Yeah, and their secretaries should all be up for sainthood!"

Chuckling as he spoke, Mason nodded while picking up his agenda. "I like the sound of that already…..Saint Gloria!"

"'Relentless' Saint Gloria to you," the secretary fired back, leaning against the doorframe connecting their rooms.

Chuckling, rubbing his sore knee, the lawyer rose from his desk and finished placing materials in his briefcase.

Gloria's eyes softened as she watched him nurse the painful joint. "You know it's Thursday. Do you want your usual from Gilberto's delivered?"

Mason closed his briefcase and paused. "Yes, Saint Gloria, that's an excellent suggestion."

The secretary prepared to step into her office, when the lawyer spoke to her. "Gloria, make that Gilberto's order _for two_."

The Thursday evening routine had changed, Gloria's eyebrows rose with surprise. "Two?" she asked.

The jurist eased to the wardrobe, removed his coat and placed it over his arm on his way out the door.

As he passed Gloria, he winked. "Qui, deux, si vous plais."

**~~~Fini, for now~~~**


End file.
